Iudex
by aadarshinah
Summary: Happiness is a fickle thing, especially in the Pegasus Galaxy. #27 in the Ancient!John 'Verse. McShep. Lorne/Zelenka. Pre-Teyla/Kanaan.
1. Pars Una

Iudex  
An Ancient!John Story

* * *

Pars Una

* * *

Iohannes is happy.

Yes, he's still Ascended and likely to be for the next thirty thousand years, without hope of appeal. Yes, he's still acting Head of the Expedition while the IOA searches for someone fill the void Elizabeta's death has left. Yes, he is a god to the people of no less than fifty-seven planets and king to seventeen, but Iohannes is happy. Beyond happy even, and possibly crossing over the line into actual glee. Because the thing is, he and Rodney have been living together for eight weeks now without major incident, which is about seven weeks longer than he had ever dared hope. They are happy together, the sex is beyond amazing, and Rodney was right, a bigger bed 'does' make all the difference.

It's more than that, though (though that is a large part of it). Because, while he 'is' still doing Elizabeta's job, he's finally settled into it. He'd still rather someone else be doing it (that someone preferably being Elizabeta), but he knows the ins and outs of the position now and, with the help of the executive assistants 'Daedalus' dropped off two weeks ago, it's become easier still. And while the god-thing still troubles him, Iohannes has got to admit that it - and the kingship - have made things a lot easier for the Expedition. Trade negotiations and first contacts have gone a lot smoother since the Confederation was founded. And if it usually means that the high holy of each new planet they come across wants to rub elbows with him at some point in the process, well, he's the only one made uncomfortable by it. (Well, not exactly uncomfortable. It's just hard to ignore all the faith coming his way, especially when the faithful are right in front of him, but even though he's not using any of it, the flood of it makes him headier than a magnum of wine.)

So he's good. He's happy. He's easily the best he's ever been. The only thing that would make Iohannes better is if Rodney were here instead of on 'Daedalus,' getting into place for the first trial of his Intergalactic Gate Bridge, which even he has to admit is kind of important. Besides, it's only three weeks out of their lives and today is the day of the actual test, so they'll at least be able to check in.

"Are you humming, sir?"

Iohannes looks up, surprised, from the last of the requisition orders he's trying to finish up before the test actually starts, so he can send them with everything else to the SGC. It's going to take them a while to put gather all the materials they'll need to build a new 'linter' and he'd like to get that ball rolling as soon as possible. "No?"

Lorne smiles disbelievingly at him and crosses the threshold into his (Elizabeta's) office. "You can't lie to me, Sir. 'Lantis has done almost nothing lately but talk about how glad she is to see you happy."

"'Lantis is a liar and a degenerate gossip. You shouldn't believe a word she says."

"Funny enough, she says the same thing about you, Sir."

"Now 'that' is an outright lie. I have 'never' once gossiped in my life." Or hummed. Iohannes had learned long ago it was best to leave the music in Atlantis' far more capable hands.

"You were telling me about Miss Emmagen and her gentleman friend just the other day," the Major says dryly.

He jabs a finger at his fellow 'pastor'. "First off, that wasn't gossip. It was a simple sharing of information you might find useful as part of your debriefing after Rory's shakedown cruise."

"Sounds like gossip to me, Sir," Lorne chuckles, perching on the edge of one of the closer armchairs.

"And secondly," he says loudly, ignoring this comment, "what kind of person uses the phrase 'gentleman friend'? I'm ten thousand years old and even 'I' think that's hopelessly outdated."

Lorne snorts. "Sir, you're barely older than I am when you take your time in stasis out of the equation."

"And yet my father is your five hundred thirty-first great-grandfather, so..."

"Five hundred thirty-first, huh? How do you know that - for sure, I mean?"

"I just do," Iohannes shrugs. He 'just knows' a lot of things. Like the fact that Father had a half-Terran son called Davidus Constantín four years after the Exodus with a Pictish woman named Màel Muire, and that this son had had four children of his own. It's long enough ago that all Terrans contain some of Father's bloodline, some more so than others. He 'remembers' other things too: when and how Father died and the names of the others who became Abominations like Ganos and Moros, amongst other things. It scares Iohannes to 'remember' so much that he has no rightful way of ever learning and he tries to forget it all as much as possible. Such knowledge is beyond the realm of mortals and he will have no part in it if he can help it.

Lorne shakes his head. "You know all that, but you didn't notice you were humming?"

"Was there something you wanted, Major? he asks baldly, leaning back in his chair and tucking his arms behind his head.

"Just to see if I was clear to start the preflight for the Gate Bridge trial."

"Yeah, you're good. I just wish I was going in your place."

"If you want, there's still time..."

"No," he sighs. "The IOA would eat me alive if I tried. You go. Enjoy your time on Terra. Take some time off. See your family. Have some fun, if they'll let you. Just be ready to take Rory out on another cruise when you get back - 'Daedalus' wasn't able to swing by Asuras on her way in because of the test's timetable and I'm not too comfortable not knowing what those 'diaboli' are getting up to at all times.

"You're not the only one who feels that way." Lorne pauses as he turns to go. "It 'is' good to see you so happy, Sir."

"I'm always happy, Major."

"Of course, Sir. Whatever you say."

* * *

He's waiting in the jumper bay when Lorne gets back, eager to hear how the Gate Bridge test went. It's obvious it worked - the Major would have been back long before if that was the case - but Iohannes wants to know. Terran means nothing to him, but the Gate Bridge is a source of equipment, personnel, and goods he can use to build his Confederation.

Lorne's beaming at him when the hatch opens, a bag slung over one shoulder. "Colonel."

"Major," he responds, raising an eyebrow at the other man's enthusiasm. Yes, Lorne's been gone nearly a day, but even 'he' doesn't get homesick that fast. Unless his own unusual level of happiness is rubbing off on Atlantis and, thus, Lorne, in which case he really, really needs to do something about that before it becomes something awkward for them to worry about.

"Great news, Sir."

"The Bridge works? I'm afraid it's kinda obvious, Major."

"No, more than that." He steps - skips - out of the jumper. Yes, he's definitely going to need to talk to 'Lantis about the possibilities of emotional transference between 'pastores'. It had never been a problem with him and Nicolaa, but, then again, they'd usually been on the same level, not to mention she hadn't had the same upgraded nanoids Father had given Iohannes - and had been implanted in Lorne. "Doctor McKay found something."

"In the middle of the void?" Now that 'is' something to get excited about. They call it a void for a reason. Finding anything at all in it is rather like, well, finding him alive and unaged after so many millennia in stasis: not impossible, but close enough to it that it might as well be.

Nodding, "A ship, going at point nine nine nine percent the speed of light." Lorne clearly expects this to mean something to him.

"Wraith?" Iohannes asks, though he's fairly certain the other 'pastor' wouldn't be so happy about a hive ship hurtling towards Avalon. He can't think of anyone else in Pegasus capable of spaceflight that it could possibly be - unless the 'linter' wasn't coming from Pegasus.

Either way, as impressive as that kind of speed is, it's not very useful. The three million lightyear trip between galaxies would still take three million years and change of real time. Even taking relativity into account that would still be a hundred thirty-four thousand years or so ship time, which is well beyond any species' lifetime - except for maybe the Wraith, who have the ability to hibernate for centuries at a time, or the Asgard, who could always transfer their consciousness to new clone bodies.

Again, possible, but not very useful. Even he knows that.

Lorne shakes his head, his smile, if possible, growing wider. (It's starting to become disconcerting. Perhaps he needs to radio Carson in case whatever's causing this odd behaviour is contagious.) "Ancient."

Iohannes' heart stutters to a stop. Surely he's misunderstood, or his translation matrix is faulty, or something. The 'are' no more 'Alteran' lintres. If there were, he'd know about it, the same way he knows about Lorne's relation to himself. He is Ascended. He would know, even if knowing was the last thing he wanted. "You mean 'ancient' as in 'old', right?"

"I mean 'Ancient' as in: we found the warship 'Tria' out in dark space and Colonel Caldwell is working to bring the surviving crew back to Atlantis as we speak." The Major looks impossibly pleased with himself, as if the news he brings is something to be celebrated.

/Breathe, 'pastor',/ 'Lantis reminds him, which is the only thing that what finally reminds him that he's lost control of his cardiopulmonary system.

He closes his eyes and 'concentrates' for a long moment, trying to remember everything Carson ever told him about his heart, his lungs. It's hard to focus on something so trivial, especially when the universe is falling down around him, but Iohannes forces himself to regain control.

/In, one two three. Out, one two three,/ the city whispers in his mind. /Forget everything else. Just stay with us and breathe: In, one two three. Out, one two three./

In, one two three.

Out, one two three.

When Iohannes opens his eyes at last, he finds Lorne regarding him worriedly (although his concern doesn't seem to have had any effect on the grin he's still sporting. Maybe he 'should' still call Carson, though for which one of them he's no longer sure.) It's obvious the Major still thinks this is a good thing. It's obvious he thinks this is the best news Iohannes could ever hope to hear - that any of them could ever hope to hear.

He swallows, concentrating on the movement to make sure he does it right. "I'm sorry," he says a long last, "but did you say 'Tria'?"

* * *

Two days. Iohannes has had two days to prepare for the end of the universe as he knows it. He's spent most that time ordering anybody with jobs not vital to the safety and security of the Expedition to paint, clean, and 'beautify' as many of the inhabitable parts of Atlantis as possible, to 'Lantis' never-ending joy and the Marines' everlasting irritation. It's the only thing he can think to do to prepare for what's coming short of placing some M2 Brownings and a couple dozen mortars in the Gate Room, which he rather thinks wouldn't have gone over any better.

A fight is coming for control of the city, he knew that the moment he read the survivor list 'Daedalus' transmitted ahead over subspace, and he will not go down easily. Atlantis is 'his' and no other's. He has been her friend, her confidante, her 'pastor' since he was five years old. She has been his entire life. No one, least of all Danielia Ival Helia Navarcha, will take her from him.

'Tria'! Of all the ships to encounter travelling through the void between galaxies, 'Tria'! He'd thought she'd been destroyed during the Battle of Tirianus - Iohannes had 'seen' her fly apart as she tried to open a hyperspace window-

-or, at least, he'd thought he had. He'd been injured and suffering the beginnings of G-LOC at the time, trying to slow Tirianus' fall into the Lantean Ocean. He could have been mistaken. Drowning probably hadn't helped his memory too much either.

But that had been seven years before the Exodus and the others had thought 'Tria' to be lost as well. Meaning that either, one, 'Tria' was so damaged she couldn't let Atlantis know she hadn't been destroyed or, two, 'Tria' hadn't wanted anyone to know she'd survived.

With any other battleship, with any other 'navarchus', Iohannes wouldn't think twice about it. But Father's first cousin, Danielia Ival Helia Navarcha, had captained that 'linter'. Danielia, like her Father, Elernus Ival Asuras Rector, had always thought that the ends justified the means, especially when it came to war. She had taught him how to pilot a jumper when he was seven, not because she knew that Iohannes had always wanted to fly and had wanted to do something nice for him but because she wanted to use him to get closer to Father-

-Father, who was 'Rector' and thus the only one who could recreate the Asurans, which had always been her self-proclaimed goal. Luckily, hers were the only whiles Father had never fallen for, and she'd never succeeded in convincing him to revisit their fathers' project, however much she thought it might have ended the Wraith War once and for al.

But 'Tria', of all 'lintres'! 'Tria'! If had been 'Fessona' or 'Pellona', Iohannes could have understood - they, at least, had been around during the Exodus. It would have made some sense for one of them to have tried to cross the void between Pegasus and Avalon. But 'Tria' had no reason to go to Terra. They'd no reason to even 'think' about that place, whose use as a sanctuary they didn't start giving serious thought to until the final year of the war.

Iohannes has a bad, bad feeling about all of this.

They should be here any minute.

He leaves Elizabeta's office - his office - and heads down the Gate Room stairs. The whole Expedition seems to be crowded excitedly on the balconies and around the edges of the lower level, thinking like the naive little children they are that this can end well.

"So, got any family on this boat, Sheppard?" Ronon asks when he reaches the bottom of the steps, spinning his 'Hamaxobii' gun around his finger.

"A first cousin once removed. Her wife. The rest are a little more distant than that."

"You gonna be upset if I shoot any of them?"

Iohannes raises an eyebrow. "You think this is going to turn into a shooting match?"

"They abandoned their brothers to the Wraith," Ronon says pointedly.

"Yeah. I don't trust them either," he admits. He's said as much a thousand times, but it's never meant this much before. He's never thought there were any left not to trust before now.

"Good."

"I-"

Iohannes' radio crackles to life.

"Atlantis, this is Daedalus. We're ready to transport the Ancient delegation."

He lets out a long breath he does not need and which helps steady him even less. "Go ahead, Daedalus. Let's get this over with."

And then they're here.


	2. Pars Dua

Iudex  
An Ancient!John Story

* * *

Pars Dua

* * *

"Hello, Danielia," John says negligently, his words painfully loud in the Gate Room's restive silence. "Long time, no see."

The Captain - who'd introduced herself to Rodney as Helia - inclines her head with a motion barely large enough to be called a nod, the motion only perceptible at all because of her mass of dark blonde curls. "You as well, Licinus. I had been under the impression that you had died when Tirianus Fell.

"I survived," he shrugs. "I'm a little surprised you did, though, what with your ship flying apart as it entered that hyperspace window."

"'Tria' was heavily damaged in the battle, particularly our engine compartment. We were unable to repair our hyperdrive after the call for evacuation was given, but we were able to boost our sub-light engines to within one thousandth of a percent of the speed of light. Between the effects of relativity and our stasis pods, we," she gestures at the dozen or so crewmen 'Daedalus' has beamed down with them, "were able to survive for far longer than we should have."

"Same here, for the stasis at least." John hands slide twitchily from his hips into his front pockets, as if he's trying his best to keep this casual and overcompensating just a little too much. "It's been ten thousand, two hundred twelve years. Did they tell you?"

"Yes, although it is quite difficult to believe."

"You get used to it," John shrugs, like that's just something people do. "Things are a little more undeveloped than you're going to be used to, but the Terrans have 'lintres' and microprocessors and nuclear fission. The Asgard regard them as the Fifth Race of the old Alliance. They're not completely backward."

Rodney bristles at this. Sure, they might not be up to Ancient levels of technology, but they're not 'undeveloped' by any means. Like John said, they've computers and nuclear power and 304s. They've defeated the Replicators (the Milky Way versions, at least) and the goa'uld. They're holding their own against the Wraith and the Ori. They may not be Ancients, but they're certainly not primitive.

He's about to remind John of this fact right then, but doesn't only because of the look that John gives him - one of the kind John usually reserves for when they're off-world and about to risk their necks on some hair-brained scheme that has about zero percent chance of success and a hundred percent chance of getting at least one of them maimed or killed; the kind that says 'trust me, I'll keep us safe'.

Well, 'that' doesn't bode well.

"I would rather not," she says brusquely.

"Too bad. The Terrans are family. They're here to stay."

"Family," Helia - Daniela - snorts. "They are Descendants. They have no place here-"

John bristles, his carefully maintained air of aloofness falling as his eyes go hard and his hands start twitching back towards his Colt. "Father had a half-Terran son after the Exodus. They are all descended from him. That makes them your cousins and my nephews."

"They have no place here," she repeats tersely.

The navigator - a plain-looking man with close cropped, dark hair and a forgettable face - steps to stand in front of his captain. "And neither do you."

"Nobody asked you, Ulixes," John snaps, jaw twitching.

Rodney takes the opportunity to start edging towards Teyla and Halling, who are standing not far away, on the lower level by the side doors.

"They should have. After all, the last anybody listened to you, twelve 'lintres' and three thousand Alterans died."

"Maybe if some people hadn't run away-"

"We ran away? What about you, Licinus?" the navigator - Ulixes Nicon Heres he remember now - accuses, growing more enraged with each word-

-and he's not the only one. John's eyes are growing colder, harder, paler while the shadows subtly darken around him. "That was completely different."

"Is it? How is it that 'you', the Abomination, managed to survive when the others - the 'real' - Alterans - did not?"

"Because 'I' didn't abandon Atlantis," he contends loudly, striding forward. "'I' stayed with her. 'I' protected her ten thousand years in the darkness and the silence while you and everyone else left her to rot."

"Who was protecting her-?"

"Enough!" Helia shouts, determined to break up the argument but apparently surprised by her own vehemence. "This bickering is pointless. As highest ranking member of the Lantean Guard remaining, I assume control of Atlantis and its population. You will contact the one who speaks for the Terrans, Licinus; it is time for your bets to go home."

John moves forward still, stopping only when he's standing half a foot away from the captain of the 'Tria'. "You've been gone a long time, cousin. I am 'legatus' now, and 'praefectus'. Atlantis is, as she's always been, mine."

"I do not recognise your authority."

"But they do," he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the various Expedition members watching uneasily behind him - to include several heavily-armed Marines and Ronon, all of whom are fingering their weapons.

Helia raises an eyebrow, and, yes, now Rodney can see it. She and John are definitely related. They've got each other's same worst qualities. The same intractableness. The same determination to do whatever is necessary to reach their objectives.

There is no way this can end well.

"Do you really want to risk the lives of your pets in battle against us, Licinus?"

"They are not pets," John insists, bringing his hands back to his hips. "They have bled for this city. Some if them have died for it. They have more right to be here than you do."

"Is that so?" Helia asks archly, moving forward until not more than half-an-inch remains between them. "Well then, 'cousin', let me tell 'you' something: I have listened to what these Descendants have whispered when they thought we could not hear. I know what sort of demon you are: a 'schimaticus' and a fraud, no better than the 'Haeretici' who drove us from our home galaxy so many millennia ago. Your word means nothing. If you had any decency, you would kill yourself now and spare the universe the pain of your 'Haeresis'."

John's eyes, already flinty, turn pure white and begin to glow with their own bright, internal light that casts no shadows. The light fixtures nearest to him burst and show the Ancients with sparks. He appears shrouded in darkness and, for the first time in along while, Rodney feels a stab of fear over what his 'amator' has become.

"I have done what I've had to do to keep Atlantis safe."

"Funny how that seems to have left you in a position of unquestioned power," the navigator, Ulixes, snorts, hands going towards the butt of his gun.

The shadows deepen still further. It should be impossible to make out what's happening in the centre of the Gate Room but, somehow, it's not. It's only around John they're truly deep. It's only around John they hide anything at all.

"I never asked for this. I never asked for any of this."

"Well, my lord," Ulixes remarks, voice dripping with sarcasm, "looks like you did not refuse it either."

"Maybe not, but the universe changed while we were sleeping, Ulixes. The old Alliance is broken. The Nox and the Furlings are dead. The Asgard are dying. Our Descendants in Avalon were enslaved for millennia by the goa'uld parasites we ignored, and those that finally broke the chains came here and are helping to fight the monsters 'we' created. The Terrans are here to stay. The sooner you accept that, the better."

"I will not bow to Descendants," Ulixes announces duly, unholstering his gun, "or their false gods."

Ulixes draws his gun, but by the time it clears the holster John has already fired, as have Ronon and Lorne, and the navigator is dead before he hits the Gate Room floor.

The room erupts in noise.

A handful of other Ancients reach for their weapons, as do the few Marines without P90s currently in their hands, but Captain Helia throws up her arms. "Enough!"

The whole room falls silent.

John points his gun at her. "Family or not, Daneilia, I've got no problem shooting you either. If it comes to that."

"You have made your point," she bites out stiffly. "You are 'praefectus'. I will not challenge that."

John lets his Colt point towards the floor. "Thank you," he says so softly that Rodney's not sure he actually heard him at all.

"But," she insists, unwilling to back down quietly, "Atlantis is 'our' home. We will not allow ourselves to be replaced by these... interlopers."

John beams at her. The glow fades from his eyes and the lighting overhead returns to normal. "I knew you'd come around."

* * *

He watches John pace the perimeter of their living room.

"She's planning something."

"Who? Helia?"

"Danielia," he insists as he passes behind the couch Rodney is currently sprawled across. "Her name is Danielia Ival Helia Navarcha and until she stops calling me by my stupid 'cognomen', I won't call her by hers."

Rodney sits up a little. "This is probably rhetorical, but you had a really screwed up childhood, didn't you?"

"My childhood was just fine, thank you very much."

"The fact that you think that say everything."

His 'amator' pauses just long enough to shoot him a dark look. "Can we leave your opinion of Father out of this for the moment and get back to the issue at hand?"

"Which is what? That your cousin screwed you over too?"

"Rodney."

He slumps back onto cushions. He'd been lured into this conversation with promises of popcorn and 'Wormhole X-treme'. He feels vaguely betrayed. He'd wanted a chance to unwind after a day like today too. "Fine. Helia. Go on."

"Thank you," John says with false primness.

"No wonder people think you're the woman in this relationship," he mutters, still slightly bitter.

"I've still got no idea what that's supposed to mean."

"You say that," Rodney tells him, rolling his eyes at the shadows the city lights are casting on the ceiling, "but you've been around us Earthlings for two-and-a-half years now. You know 'Star Trek' and Tolstoy and Led Zeppelin and the entire Marvel universe. You can't tell me you've not managed to pick up a couple social customs along the way."

Tiredly, "Not the time, Rodney."

He waves an impatient hand. "Fine, fine. Get back to your familial crisis."

"Y'know, you could at least 'pretend' to take his seriously."

"I'm sorry, but it's hard to take it seriously when you claim each and every other Ancient we encounter is out to bring about the downfall of the Expedition."

"Well, it's true," he says with an audible pout.

Dryly, "It's paranoia."

"It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you," John insists, passing out of view behind Rodney's couch again.

"See! Earth pop culture, right there. You only pull out the 'oh, I'm a helpless alien' card when it suits you."

"Can we 'please'," he responds, pacing back into view, "get back to the point of this conversation?"

"Which is what? How to get rid of your prodigal cousin and her merry band of men?" Rodney asks, only half-seriously. Regardless of what John said earlier - regardless of what he'd done to the 'Tria's' navigator - Helia is still family, and that means a lot to him.

"Yes."

Rodney rolls his eyes and pushes himself into a sitting position. It looks like there's not going to be any 'Wormhole X-treme' tonight. "Yes, because that worked out so well with Michael."

John slaps him on the back of his head when next he passes.

"Hey! No need to resort to violence."

"Are you going to help me out or not? You don't know Danielia like I do. She's never had the same regard for non-Alteran life that I do. She'd kill you all herself if she thought it would bring about the end of the Wraith and not think twice about it."

Rodney sighs, rubbing the back of his head. Though he doesn't mean to, John's stronger than he was before. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Not counting your time in stasis, it's still been what? Over a decade since you've seen her? Maybe she's changed."

"People don't just 'stop' being genocidal psychopaths, Rodney," he says dryly.

"I spent two days with her on the 'Daedalus'. She seemed perfectly normal to me - you know, for an Ancient."

"Thus my use of the world 'psychopath'," John says more dryly still.

"Even assuming that's true-"

"Which it is."

"-then she's bound to be pragmatic as well. She's not going to do anything while you're in charge of the city, and it's not like she can stage a coup with you being all Ascended and all."

John stops pacing and sinks onto the couch next to him. "No, but she can hurt you."

Annoyed now, "One of these days, John, you're going to have to realise that I can actually take care of myself."

"I know you can," he admits in a low breath. "I do, but... Danielia is nothing like anything you've ever seen."

"You said that about the Replicators."

"Her father created them."

"And by that logic," Rodney points out, "you should be just as much of a bastard as you claim 'your' father was."

"I never said I wasn't. I'm just saying, there are lines he'd cross that I never would, and that I'm worried you'd treat her the same way you treat me just because she's Alteran also."

"Like that would ever happen," Rodney snorts. "First of all, she may be blonde, but she's nowhere near as hot as you-"

"Gee. Thanks," John says, grinning at him in the half-darkness.

"-and, second, she's married." To 'Tria's' very hot (and nubile) Chief Medical Officer, Diana de Aynecuria Immunes. Even though she's not blonde either, if he weren't with John, Rodney'd definitely consider making an exception for 'her'. Though how that pair wound up together, he doubts anyone knows.

John bumps their shoulders. "I've told you, marriage didn't mean the same thing to my people that it does to yours."

"It means something to me," Rodney says, surprising himself.

In the past, if he'd found someone attractive, he'd hit on him or her regardless of circumstances. Once at Cal Tech he'd famously managed to hit on a groom at his bachelor party - which went about as well as one might imagine, though he and the best man had ended up having a thing for a couple of months. It'd been one of Rodney's longer relationships, pre-John.

But it's different now. It's not just that he has John and can see spending the rest of his life with him, it's that he gets why people want to spend their lives with just one person now. And maybe sometimes there are bumps in the road, but it's worth it, through richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and all the rest.

Maybe he should start thinking of ways to convince John to marry him.

John, of course, completely fails to notice this lightbulb moment. "That doesn't change anything. Danielia is smart. She knows I can't keep Atlantis running without you. If 'she' thinks she'd gain anything from it, she'll try to get you to have sex with her or become indebted to her in some other way. That's how her mind works."

"I don't think you have to worry about that."

John slumps against his side, bringing his head against Rodney's shoulder.

He's quiet for a long time, long enough that Rodney would have thought he'd fallen asleep if that were still a possibility. But after a while he asks, as if there'd been no interruption at all, "Am I doing the right thing?"

Rodney knows his 'amator' is not talking about his cousin anymore. "It's worked well so far." Better than fine even. No planet their teams have visited since the singing of the Charter has been openly hostile; most have been incredibly friendly, not wanting to go against their Ancient god. And, sure, there have been hiccups - overly-friendly high priestess, chieftains' sisters and merchants' daughters; the occasional demand for a miracle or fulfillment of a prophesy - but nothing too bad, or even all that dangerous. (Though the priestess from Latira had looked like she might have clawed his eyes out after he'd reminded her John was already in a long-term, committed monogamous relationship - by thoroughly examining John's tonsils with his tongue in front of her.)

"I don't trust things that go this well."

Which possibly explains all of John's commitment issues right there.

"Well, stop it. We've not had any fatalities - or even serious injuries, besides Doctor Parish breaking his arm falling off that ladder in Greenhouse Five - in seventy-seven days. The Replicators and the Wraith haven't made any move against us since the Charter was signed. You're the king of an entire galaxy and it's blue jello day in the mess hall tomorrow. Trust it or not, things 'are' going well, so try to relax."

"I want to. I really do. I just want to enjoy what time I have with you. But..."

Rodney rests his cheek against the top of John's head. "You're a good person, John. When the time comes, you'll be an excellent ruler. You've got nothing to worry about, Ori-wise."

Again, John says nothing. But he 'does' wrap an arm around Rodney's waist and pulls him closer.

He considers saying more, but there's nothing he 'can' say. If John doesn't believe him by now, nothing he can say ever will, no matter how much he should.


	3. Pars Tria

Iudex  
An Ancient!John Story

* * *

Pars Tria

* * *

"So, you are 'pastor'," one of the new Ancients says as he takes the seat across from him in the mess the morning after their arrival.

Evan sets down his coffee with a nod. He doesn't like these interlopers in his home or what their continued presence here might mean for the city, but that doesn't mean he won't at least try to be polite to them. "Yes. For a few months now."

"How curious," the Ancient continues, as if Evan were some sort of lab specimen and not a real, live human being. "I never would have imagined that such a weak, watered-down version of the activation gene could ever be strong enough to facilitate such an immutable connection as 'custodiae' and 'pastores' require."

"Not many humans have the ability. Our best estimates put the number of natural gene users at one thousandth a percent of Earth's total population."

The Ancient hums, considering this.

He looks so different from Colonel Sheppard, it's almost disconcerting - not that Evan expects all Ancients to be dark-haired and whip-thin, but this man is the original definition of forgettable. He's an indeterminate shade of dark blonde, with muddy brown eyes and washed-out features. The kind of person one never remembers meeting, even in the crazy, all-white alien getup he's wearing. Even looking right at him, it's hard to find out anything as memorable as a freckle.

When Evan says different, however, he means much more than just looks. It's everything about the Ancient - about all the Ancients, really. It's how they carry themselves so stiffly and how each movement they dare make is so perfectly controlled that it verges on robotic. It's how they blink slightly too often and breathe slightly too seldom. It's their vaguely Transatlantic accents and the way none of them - none - have yet to say a word to any member of the Expedition if they could possibly help it.

"I am Tomas Norens Nauta."

Well, at least now he has a name for this one. It's even a fairly normal, compared to some. "Major Evan Lorne."

Tomas hums again. It seems to be a thing with him. Maybe that will be enough for Evan to remember which of the  
hundred odd Ancients now in Atlantis he is. "I was the pilot aboard 'Tria'. What is your purpose here?"

"I'm the acting military commander of the city, at least, I am for as long as Colonel Sheppard is in charge of the Expedition. I'm also captain of 'Aurora'. But I was a pilot by trade myself before coming to Atlantis. I mostly few C-130s the last few years." Realising this would mean nothing to the Ancient, "C-130s are incredibly versatile planes," he explains. "They were designed for troop and cargo transport, but our militaries use them for all sorts of things - aerial refuelling, search and rescue, tactical airlifting..."

Tomas looks distinctly unimpressed, though he manages a, "Your race has certainly come far since Atlantis left your planet."

"The Colonel seems to like it," he says evenly.

"Colonel?"

"It's what we call Sheppard - Iohannes, that is." It's strange to say his commanding officer's given name, even if 'Lantis helps him give it the right pronunciation (with more syllables than Evan would have thought necessary) for this Ancient, who clearly doesn't think much of Sheppard or Earth. "It's his rank in our military, roughly similar to your 'legatus', I think."

"My," Tomas shakes his head. "Licinus certainly 'has' gone native, hasn't he?"

"He's been a good commander," he defends. Yes, the Colonel's tendency towards suicidal self-sacrifice is troubling, but Evan can't think of anyone he'd rather serve under, to the point where he's going to have some long, hard thinking to do if they try to send him back to Earth next time his contract's up for renewal.

"Oh, I am sure. I am just surprised that he has managed to survive for - what is it again? two-and-a-half years? - under such primitive conditions."

"That's something you'll have to take up with the Colonel, but we've got electricity, running water, and three squares a day, which is a lot better than some places I've been stationed over the years."

"I am sure," Tomas repeats, poking a pair of chopsticks listlessly into a bowl of brown rice and tavabeans.

Evan's jaw tightens. "Was there something you wanted?" he asks as politely as he can manage.

"My wife - my late wife," he says, Tomas' voice betraying an emotion besides contempt for the first time in their conversation, "was this city's last 'pastor'. I was merely wondering who Licinus thought adequate enough to replace her."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I am told she died during the Exodus - that she bled out from shrapnel wounds before Licinus regained consciousness. Thought I must admit I find it surprising that he, who never showed any interest in Ascension whatsoever (and, in fact, often spoke out against it), not only managed to survive for long enough for your Expedition to rescue him, but has since Ascended as well."

"How deep is the river if you cannot see the bottom?"

The Ancient inclines his head, giving him an appraising look. "I see you are not completely ignorant then."

"The Colonel," Evan tells him, feeling his jaw clench again, "has been teaching me about Ancient - Alteran - philosophy." He's still not sure if Sheppard had come up with the idea on his own or if Radek had nettled him into doing it, trying to encourage him to finally write his dissertation, but he's enjoying it either way, so Evan's decided it doesn't matter.

"I am sure he has," Tomas says meaningfully, picking at his breakfast again, but before Evan can ask what he means by that, another tray slides next to him.

"Hey guys," the Colonel says smoothly, kicking out his chair. "Getting to know each other, I see."

"Licinus."

"Colonel."

To Evan's great surprise, it's not Tomas' greeting the Colonel winces at, but his own.

"Lorne," Sheppard says, shooting him a 'play along with me' look, "I told you to call me 'Pater'." He turns his false smile back on Tomas. "I don't think I mentioned it yesterday, but I chose to adopt the Major here when I became 'Imperator'."

Evan's fairly certain he heard that wrong or that his translation matrix is acting up. As the Colonel continues, however, it becomes more and more clear that he had, in fact, heard his commanding officer correctly.

/Well,/ he thinks at Atlantis, /this is going to be hard to explain to my mom./

/It's okay,/ she assures him negligently, most of her attention on some project of her own she's refusing to talk about. /We understand./

He fights the urge to hang his head between his hands and tries to pay attention to what Sheppard's saying.

"After all, every ruler needs an 'heres' and its not like I'm likely to be having kids of my own in my current state. Besides, he was practically family before the whole Confederation thing happened anyway. Oh! His name in Alteran is Davidus Iohanideus Argathelianus Pastor if that's any easier for you - I know the Terran names can be a bit strange and hard to pronounce sometimes. Though I suppose you could just call him 'cousin' if you want. After all, this makes him your third cousin by marriage, doesn't it?"

Tomas' chopsticks fall to his tray with a clatter. "On second thought, I am not that hungry."

When he leaves, Sheppards turns back to Evan with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. The others won't ever respect a Descendant, no matter what his rank or position. Adopting you - or claiming to - makes you almost Alteran and gives you some reason in their eyes to tolerate your existence. Hopefully it will be enough."

"Enough? Enough for what?"

"I'm not sure yet," the Colonel admits, shrugging. "But Danielia is a Machiavellian 'futatrix' and Tomas... He's a yes-man to the bone. If his 'navarcha' ordered him to gather information on you - or worse - he'd do it, no questions asked."

Evan can't help but wonder if Sheppard is just that paranoid, or if there really is something monstrous in the survivors of the 'Tria' that only he can see.

"He just wanted to talk about this late wife," he tries to explain.

The Colonel's face immediately closes off.

There's no point in asking if he knew her. Instead Evan asks, "Were you two close?"

"Me and Nicolaa?" he asks, surprised. "The closest. We even dating for several years. and then we broke up and I went to Tirianus and she she married Tomas."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It all happened ages ago. Ten years before the Exodus even. Ancient history," he laughs humorously.

Evan doesn't know what to say to that, so he finishes his breakfast instead. It's a practice that's served him well in the past and will certainly continue to do so in the future, provided Pegasus didn't kill him first.

* * *

"Normally," Radek says, coming up to lean on the railing outside the Conference Room next to him, "it is considered polite to let someone know when he is working for one of both of your parents."

Evan shoots him a small smile. It's all he dares do considering just who is on the other side of the doors. "I only found out about the Colonel's plan this morning. I can't say I understand it, but he knows his people a whole lot better than I do. I have to assume he'd doing what he thinks best."

"That the Colonel thinks his plan best, I have no doubt. But at various points in time he has also thought piloting a nuclear bomb into side of Wraith hive ship and allowing Michael to escape so that he might be killed in the process to be 'best plan'."

"What are you saying?" he asks quietly, still on the defensive from Tomas' questions at breakfast. "That we shouldn't trust the Colonel?"

"No, no," Radek corrects hastily, somewhat aghast, "nothing like that. I only meant to say that his plans are often dangerous and depend as much on luck as they do skill."

"He's saved this city a dozen times over."

"I do not deny that. I just do not want to see you inheriting your new father's suicidal tendencies."

Evan snorts. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"Good," Radek says with a grin just this side of manic, "I would hate to have to break in a new assistant."

Laughing now, "Assistant?" he asks. Is that what they are calling it now, this thing between them? They've not labeled it, trying to keep it from becoming too serious. He's still in the United States Air Force, DADT is still a thing, and pretences still have to be kept up. He's just lucky Radek understands (though in all likelihood Radek would be just as secretive about if they could tell - but that's just who he is).

"In the ongoing effort to keep our bosses - your new adoptive parents - from getting themselves killed in some foolhardy enterprise."

Evan stops laughing abruptly. "God. I have Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay as adoptive parents. Is that even legal? Doesn't it violate some part of your Declaration of Universal Rights?"

It could be interesting, possibly even amusing, to see Sheppard try hand at fatherhood. Never mind the fact that Evan is thirty-six and the Ancient in question is something like thirty-eight when all his years in stasis are taken out, he can see the Colonel taking the adoptive fatherhood thing pretty seriously. After all, he already takes the whole nephew business to illogical extremes, regardless of the five hundred odd generations involved; Evan can't think of any reason why adoptive fatherhood might be any different for him.

But Doctor McKay...

He really worries about child Doctor McKay might have a hand in raising. Not so much 'for' the child as for the rest of the universe, which is in no way, shape, or form ready for McKay two point oh.

"Back home, I do not know," Radek admits, his grin moving past manic and well on the way to maniacal. "But in this galaxy the Colonel's word is law. Congratulations: you are a prince."

"Lucky me."

"Very lucky you. It means that when the IOA forces the rest of us to return to Earth, you have a chance of staying."

"You think they'll actually do that? Pull the Expedition out?" Reduce it in size and scope, maybe, but not pull out.

"The IOA is made up of bureaucrats and politicians, and Atlantis is expensive and dangerous enterprise. If they can see a way to get all of her benefits with none of the risks, then yes, Evan, I think we will be recalled in heartbeat."

"I hope not."

Radek makes an indistinct noise. "All I know is that governments will do whatever it takes to keep themselves in power. Which will be easier to do if they are not spending billions of dollars they cannot account for on a program they cannot admit exists."

"I'm not disagreeing," even if, sometimes, he feels Radek's youth behind the Iron Curtain made him overly pessimistic. "I just think that the people back on Earth who in the know are smart enough to know that Atlantis is a lot more than just a black hole where their money goes."

"How a solider can be so naive," Radek says, shaking his head, "I do not know."

"The Air Force doesn't have soldiers. It has airmen."

"My apologies. English is my fourth language. I sometimes make mistakes."

Evan snorts. Because that's about as true as the Colonel's 'innocent alien' routine.

Radek continues to grin at him like some kind of love-drunk teenager.

He really has no idea how no one other than Colonel Sheppard has guessed they're together, for all their secrecy. (Though it 'is' a distinct possibility that anyone else who may have guessed is well-versed enough in American military politics - and well-mannered enough - not to mention it.

The Conference Room doors swivel open.

"...a huge mistake, General," Sheppard says sharply, following General O'Neill out of the room.

"We 'do' have our own galaxy to worry about, Colonel."

"I get that," he insists with the same sharp, fierce intensity, the kind that used to preclude all the worst possible things before he Ascended. (Torture. Assassination. Medical experimentation. Genocide.) Now... Now it is the one and only warning for the approaching wrath of a merciless god. "I really do. But the Wrath know about Avalon. If we cannot contain them here, Terra will be in danger just the same."

"Well then, Sheppard," O'Neill says, distinctly unimpressed in the way only a man whose faced down - and mocked - dozens of false gods can be, and pats him on the back, "you'll just have to contain them, won't you?"

He pulls away. "You're responsible for this. Not completely, but you bear at least some responsibility for the situation Pegasus is in. Terra cannot simply abandon its commitments to this galaxy."

It's Woolsey who answers. "This isn't our galaxy. This isn't our fight."

"You 'made' it your fight," the Colonel counters immediately, the storm in his face growing. He's always been a force of nature - there's no choice but to follow him, no matter what path he takes them down, - but it's undeniable now. Radek rattled off the numbers once: he's a thunderstorm, an earthquake, an atomic bomb held together by sheer force of will, and while Sheppard is one of the most stubborn men Evan's ever met, even his control can slip. (As Doctor Weir discovered.)

"Licinus," Captain Helia interrupts in a gentle voice that's rather at odds with her cat-who-got-the-canary smile, "they have made their decision. You must respect that."

"Stay out of this, Danielia. Haven't you caused enough trouble for one day?"

"The only thing I have been doing is abrogating the damage you have caused this city with your impulsivity and short-sightedness."

"I've been saving this galaxy."

"Pray tell me, just when were you elected our moral compass? Was it after your battle strategy caused Tirianus to Fall? Or did you wait until you thought the rest of us dead to place yourself on that pedestal?"

"I was the only one here, Danielia," he says with flashing eyes. "I got to make the choices because I was the only person around to make them.

"But if you want to start pointing fingers, why don't we talk about why 'Tria' turned tail mid-battle? Or why you chose to make for Avalon when you had to know there was no way you could make in your lifetime, not even with stasis and relativity working on your side?"

"The evacuation signal was given-"

"There was no such signal."

"Half the fleet had been destroyed. Tirianus was breaking apart in the atmosphere. Licinus, the battle was lost! It was only a matter of time before an evacuation signal 'was' given. If there was any chance of saving my 'linter' and my crew, we had to leave then."

"We lasted for seven years without you."

"We might have lasted seven hundred if we had not listened to your misguided belief that the Siege could be broken and the Wraith defeated if we brought Tirianus from Albion, where it was safe, to Lantea," she counters, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her head with a jerk of her chin that makes her curls dance wildly, like they've a mind of their own.

"Oh, yes, because 'your' plan to reactivate the Asurans was completely sound and unlikely to end in the pointless slaughter of every Descendant in this galaxy."

O'Neill steps between the Ancients, forcing the cousins apart before the shadows can gather too thickly around the Colonel. "If I might be so bold, might I suggest you save this for some other time?"

Undeterred, "You can't do this, General," he repeats. "Pulling out this Expedition now undermines all of the sacrifices that we've made over the last two-and-a-half years to protect Atlantis and the people - all the people - on her. Look me in the eye and tell me you're okay with that."

"The order comes from high up the food chain, John," the General admits, sounding genuinely bitter about it. "There's nothing I can do about it."

"You're the commander of the Department of Homeworld Security. There 'is' no higher up the food chain than you."

"It's a civilian Expedition. The IOA gets the final say."

He turns to Woolsey. "Then 'you' listen to me. You can't do this-"

"The decision's been made, Colonel," Woolsey says, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He's right to be too: the last person that look was turned on died at Sheppard's hand not long after.

"Alright," he agrees, like it costing him the only price that matters. "But the 'custodiae' and 'pastores' stay."

"Out of the question. We need Doctor McKay back at Area 51."

The Colonel's jaw twitches, but he presses on. "Major Lorne then. He's 'pastor' and 'heres'. He stays."

"That okay with you, Major?"

"Yessir," Evan says before he can even think through his answer. Atlantis is 'home'. He belongs here more than he ever did back in San Francisco, or Afghanistan, or the SGC. He would gladly stay here, even if it means resigning commission and never seeing Earth again-

-which it might very well. For all the noises Captain Helia has made about cooperation, everything she's done and everything Sheppard has said about her have indicated otherwise. Even if she doesn't actively hate Earth, she still dislikes its people for being 'Descendants'. Humans had been barely more than hunters and gathers when she'd been born; even now they are hopelessly unadvanced compared to the Ancients at their nadith. They would never be good enough for Helia and, if ever the Tau'ri were to return to Atlantis, it would likely only be after her Ascension.

And, surprisingly, Evan's okay with that. He loves his family and what friends he has back on Earth, but Earth's not Atlantis. He'd be okay with a only letter from home once or twice a year for the rest of his life if means he gets to stay on Atlantis.

The only problem is Radek. He'll be going back to Earth. They've been trying to keep things from becoming too serious between them (because one of them being recalled has always been a possibility, because General Landry is one of the last proponents of the old guard and believes in things like DADT to the depths of his bible-thumping soul; because they've seen what happens to people who care too much in Pegasus), but Evan would like them to be one day.

Would have liked them to be one day.

General O'Neill turns back to Sheppard triumphantly. "You can have him."

"And," Woolsey adds carefully, albeit with a detectable air of smugness, "remember that Captain Helia has agreed to leave a liaison from the IOA behind."

"Forgive me if I'm not jumping for joy, but I've seen how this game ends. Living through the extinction of my race is not something I'd planned on doing a second time, but seeing as how every semi-intelligent species I come across seems intent on letting itself be slaughtered, it looks like it's something I'm going to have to get used to"

Radek looks like he's about to say something about the Colonel's own self-preservation instincts - something untoward in Czech about how he's never met a suicide mission he doesn't like, perhaps - but before he can Sheppard stalks off in a shower of sparks.

"Well, that went well," O'Neill say, clapping his hands together.

Woolsey looks at him, askance. "I'm almost afraid to ask what would qualify as 'not well'."

"Dead usually covers it, wouldn't you say, Major?"

"I'd say so, Sir."

The General, to his great surprise, gives him a warm smile and, to his even greater surprise, a claps a hand heavily on Evan's shoulder as he passes. "Keep an eye on our boy for me," he says quietly, as if he too has some idea of just how bad this might get before it starts getting any better.

* * *

They give the Expedition fifty-six hours to pack up, and since the Colonel places him in charge of overseeing the recall, the time seems to fly. There are barely six hundred people in the city, less than some of the FOBs Evan's been stationed at, but it's amazing how much 'stuff' there is to send back. Computer servers and medical equipment, stacks M2s and crates of M9s - all things the Ancients have no want or need for. It's all got to go. And be inventoried, packaged, transported onto 'Daedalus', and reinventoried.

There's no time to think, to process, to breathe, and next thing he knows, Evan's watching the people he's lived and worked with for years disappear through the Gate forever.

Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay are whispering intently off to the side, continuing the 'discussion' they've been having for days. Evan doesn't can't hear what they're saying, but he can guess. Everyone can.

"So I guess this is goodbye," Radek says, walking up behind him with a suitcase in hand.

He wants to disagree. He wants to say that their exile won't be forever. That this isn't the end.

But he doesn't, because this 'is' the end. Of their relationship. Of the Expedition. Of everything. And there's nothing that anyone can do to stop it.

"I guess so," Evan manages, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's been..."

"Yes," Radek agrees awkwardly, pushing his glasses up his nose with his free hand. "It has." He takes a deep breath, then, "Goodbye, Evan."

"Goodbye, Radek."

And then the only man he's ever loved walks through the wormhole, dragging a protesting Doctor McKay with him, and it really is the end of an era.


End file.
